Authors: Shawn Hopkins
“Don’t you think it would be wise to find out what he knows?”
In Scott’s experience, things took an interesting route once talk like that started. A pair of pliers came to mind. Using his head as an anchor, he pulled his body along the table with his neck while helping himself along with his fingers. Soon his head was off the back of the table, and he was able to sit up. He squirmed out of the bonds, leaving the blanket behind, and hopped off the table. It was only then that he realized he was naked. He swore under his breath and looked around the small room, but he found no trace of his wet fatigues. Having no other choice, he snatched the blanket from the table and flung it around his waist.
His bare feet pitter-pattered across the cold floor as he frantically searched the four walls, looking for another exit. There was nothing in the room that could explain where he was, who captured him, or what this room was used for. Other than the table, the room was empty. And there was no other exit. Only the door with voices behind it.
Scott approached the door and put an ear against it, trying to better hear the sacred language of the Chosen.
“I will not let you do that!” They were still arguing. But it didn’t seem to be about him anymore. That was good.
“He’s the only one that knows where it is,” another voice interjected.
“Yes, if you believe the stories.”
Another voice spoke, this person’s Hebrew tainted with a European accent. “Friends, we do not have time for this. Any second now the camp may be stormed, and our mission will have ended in failure.”
Scott didn’t think it possible to be any more confused, half of him believing this was still part of a dream. He tried to control his breathing, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air.
“Wake him up,” someone commanded.
Footsteps approached the door.
Scott jumped back, quickly eyeing the hinges on the door and seeing that the door would swing in at him. He flattened himself against the wall, and chills ran up his bare back.
The door swung open right at his face, hiding him between it and the wall.
The person entered the room, passing him, and paused when he noticed the empty table.
Scott leaned his shoulder into the door, ramming it shut and knocking backwards a few men just about to enter. The man in the room with him was too stunned to react in time, and Scott took the gun out of his hand the same moment it appeared. Scott had the man from behind, the pistol against his temple, before the man even knew what happened. It took all of his self-control not to pull the trigger. It was too much like last time, like Iran, and he felt himself begin to lose it, his sense of reality slipping.
When the door opened again, there were four men with semi-automatic pistols standing before him.
“Drop them,” Scott ordered, jamming the point of the gun into the man’s head.
The four men hesitated.
“Now!”
One of them, a bearded man, spoke in English. “And what will you do if we do not? Shoot him?” He stepped closer. “I do not think so.”
“Back off.”
“I’ll tell you what,” he responded. “I’ll make you a deal.”
Scott quickly swept his gaze over the other three. “What kind of deal?” he slurred. As fast as he was, he knew nothing about these men. If they were Jewish, then it was quite possible they were Mossad, and if that was the case, he’d stand little chance against four of them. Though what reason the Mossad would have for being here was far beyond anything he could imagine.
“You let him go, and we will forget about this whole incident.”
Scott laughed. “Forget it happened? Forget you killed my friend?”
The man lowered his pistol, a twinge of sympathy flashing across his face. “We did not kill your friend.”
In that split second, Scott swung the pistol up and fired, dropping to a knee while pulling the man down on top of him, using him as a shield, and shooting the other three. Or at least that was what he was trying very hard to keep from doing.
He blinked, looked around the room. “Where am I?”
“Please, I can see that you are upset and understandably so. Why don’t you lower the gun, and we will have a civilized conversation.”
“We do not have time for that,” one of the others spat.
The bearded man ignored him. “Perhaps you would like some pants.”
Scott could feel the knot in the blanket begin to loosen. “Pants would be nice,” he said, teeth clenched.
“Then please, put down the gun.”
The man Scott was holding at gunpoint joined in. “It is okay. We are men of our word.”
His world spinning upside down, the effect of the drug they used still prominent in his system, he realized that he had little choice.
The bearded Jew sighed. “Please, I am begging you. We’re pressed for time here, and we will shoot you if you force us to. There are more significant things that require our attention.”
Scott figured he’d be dead already if they meant to kill him. He stepped away from the man, though he kept the gun trained on him. And then, with a deep breath, he lowered the pistol. He could feel himself shaking.
Turning to face him, the one he had held hostage said, “It was a wise decision.”
Scott only stared at him, warning him that it better have been.
One of them walked back out the door, hopefully to get his pants, while the others came closer. “Can we please have the gun back?”
“I don’t think so.”
He nodded, acknowledging the unspoken terms, and everyone lowered their guns. “So, who are you?”
“Who are
you
?” Scott retaliated.
After a second of musing, the man answered, “You can call me Daniel.”
“Okay, Daniel.” He leaned against the table, fatigue almost causing him to collapse. “You can call me Matt.”
“Are you a soldier?”
“No.” His head was getting heavier.
“You handle yourself like one. You have obviously been trained.”
No response.
Daniel tilted his head to the side as one of his men whispered into his ear. He didn’t look all that happy with whatever was said. He nodded, however, agreeing to whatever it had been.
“Matt, it is essential that we understand who you are
not
.”
The puzzle wasn’t coming together by any means, Scott still feeling as if he were on some kind of hallucinogenic, but he was starting to sense that these men simply wanted to know whether or not he posed a threat to them. “I’m nobody. Just a guy trying to survive.”
“And your relationship to Edward Cairns?”
“A friend.”
“I see.” Daniel put his hand over his mouth, staring at the floor, thinking. “Well, Matt, I do not have time to keep asking questions, so I am going to take a slight risk in exposing myself. In hopes that you… cooperate.”
Just then, the man who had left returned with a pair of pants. “They should fit.” He threw them at Scott.
“Thanks.” He kept the gun ready while struggling to get the pants on.
Daniel continued, “We are Israeli Mossad.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed, and a dark chuckle escaped his lips. “What are you doing here, in
North
America
?” His tone reflected a slight bitterness that accused the man’s home country of having something to do with the former Republic’s current world status.
Detecting this, Daniel answered, “We are operating outside of national scrutiny. You could say that we are ‘off the grid.’”
“Rogue agents.”
Daniel flinched. “That is a bit harsh. Let’s just say we owe our primary allegiance to the Promised Land and to our faith.”
“So then you’re
not
part of the global cabal running things back in the Holy Land or you
are
?”
Daniel shook his head. “No. On the contrary.”
And all of a sudden, through fatigue and all, Scott realized in part what had happened out in the woods. “You took out the people on the hill.”
“Yes.”
“So then who were the people that took Edward from the cave?” Even as he asked, Edward’s last words floated through his mind.
Israelis
…
“That was us.”
But before Scott could work out the arithmetic in his head, Daniel called his attention to something else.
“When you reached Edward, you took the ring from him.”
The world seemed to drop out from under his feet. “You were after the
ring
?” he asked.
He shrugged. “Why else would Edward be of interest to us?”
Scott forced himself to stand tall. “And the little visit he got last night?”
“That was NAU Intelligence.” He looked to one of the men next to him and signaled for him to leave. Then he walked closer to Scott. “Look, you cannot understand what is taking place, what is on the verge of happening. Not now. And we simply don’t have the time to explain it to you. I don’t know who you are, but for some reason I believe you are on our side, or at least not opposed to it. You were Edward Cairn’s friend, so I am assuming that you shared a common belief in what is happening in the world now. That it is the end of days.”
Scott stuttered, “I neither espoused nor rejected his prophetic views. I didn’t share his faith.”
“That is unfortunate. I am sure he would be sorry to hear you say that. Nevertheless, your attempted escape and your fight with the soldiers suggests that you have no love for them.”
Scott raised his heavy eyes. “
Them
? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He brought his hand up to his head, a sudden sense of vertigo sweeping over him. He felt where the sniper’s shot had grazed his scalp.
Appreciating Scott’s mental condition, Daniel explained, “I am sorry that we had to drug you, but under the circumstances, you would have been confused as to who we were and would have mistaken us for the enemy.” He smiled sheepishly. “In a way, we saved your life.”
“Why did you do that?”
“No more questions.” It came from another voice, from another room. “Matt
…
” And a figure appeared, suddenly emerging from the shadowy entranceway, walking straight into the room and past the armed Mossad agents. The man was tall with silver hair and eyes that beamed with purpose. He was also wearing the white collar of a Catholic priest. Without any introduction, he asked, “Do you know what this is?” He held the mysterious ring up to Scott’s face, his tone forceful — not one to play games and against the clock.
“No.” Scott eyed him suspiciously. This was the guy he’d heard speaking with a European accent. And why a Catholic priest would be keeping the company of Jews, and vice-versa, didn’t seem to make much sense either. History didn’t necessarily paint them as the best of friends.
The priest said, “They say rings were introduced as a symbol of power. Probably in Egypt. Evolved from the signet or seal in about the 16th century BC.” He smiled, his eyes locked on the clear lens. “You’ve felt its power, haven’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
“You know there are many legends and myths surrounding rings.” He seemed to be entranced by it — they all did. “In medieval times, rings made from certain materials were thought to have occult powers. They were made to protect a person or to influence another. Cabalistic words or sentences and astrological signs were believed to hold mysterious powers.” Then he let his eyes slide upward to meet Scott’s. “Some wonder whether or not those myths and legends were born of a truth.”
Though Scott could not deny the strange way the ring made him feel, he surely wasn’t going to admit it. Not to this clown. The room started spinning, and he found himself dropping his guard, his mood too foul and his brain too weary to keep up with the unfolding present. He just wanted to sleep.
The priest looked him straight in the eye and asked, “What does the year 1947 mean to you?”
“1947?” repeated Scott. “Is this a game we’re playing now?”
“First week in July.”
Daniel looked uncomfortable. It was obvious that he either disagreed with what the priest was about to say, or that he didn’t trust Scott to hear it.
Scott smiled a twisted and sarcastic smile. He knew the reference. “Martians invaded earth?” He was leaning back against the table.
“Whether or not they were Martians is a subject of debate. What is
not
is the fact that something significant happened and that the government covered it up.”
“Roswell? What the hell does that have to do with anything?” He pushed himself off the table and walked forward, his gun hand waving. “You better start making sense real quick, or I just might assume I’m the subject of some old MK-Ultra experiment.”
Just then, another Israeli burst through the door. “They’re here!”
Daniel took one long look at Scott before turning and fleeing through the door along with the rest of the Mossad agents.
“Who’s here?” Scott asked the priest.
“The enemy.”
And then gunfire erupted somewhere far away.
“What’s going on?” Scott demanded. He was tired of riddles. His mind needed some kind of foothold on reality.
“I am sorry, but there is no time to explain now. We are under attack.”
“By who?”
The priest shook his head as if he almost didn’t know how to answer. “I guess it depends.”
“Depends on what?” Scott asked, incredulously.
Ignoring him, the priest turned and exited the room, leaving Scott standing barefoot and bare-chested with only a pistol in his hand. “Wait!”
Somewhere above him an explosion rocked the earth, and clouds of dust began to fill the small room.
Scott stumbled forward, chasing after the priest.
12
E
xplosions were rocking the ground and
rattling the walls around him. Reaching out to steady himself as he ran up the stairs, he tried to determine what kind of facility he was in. It was a concrete base of some kind, maybe a prison. He could hear all hell breaking loose somewhere close by, and all he had was a pistol and pants. His feet were freezing on the cold steps, and a draft was blasting his bare chest.
Finally clearing the steps, and still no sign of the priest, he found himself in what looked like a deserted cafeteria, tables lining both sides of the room. Looking around, he noticed that the windows had bars on them. He checked the 9mm pistol he’d taken from the Jewish agent and tried to think of what to do next.